The oldest mummy they had on display, and in fact one of the oldest ever found, was that of a ten month old child. Named the Detmold Child, at 6,500 years old it predates King Tut by a thousand years. Found in Peru, mummyologists (apparently this is a real word and trademarked, no less) have used CT images to ascertain that he/she had contracted pneumonia and that it had, in conjunction with a serious heart defect, ultimately caused his/her death. The child was wrapped in linen and an amulet (also discovered through CT scans) was placed around his/her neck. These wrappings have not been removed or disturbed but a replica of the amulet is on display next to the mummy.
Nearly all of the infant mummies they had on display were very obviously well cared for in their deaths by whatever surviving family members had buried them. It touched me to see that even in times when infant and child loss was so much more commonplace than it is now those children were still grieved and honored.
After we walked through the exhibition Leif told me that sometime in the near future he wants to have a service for George. We never had one and we haven't talked about having one in months. When he died we were too unsure of what we wanted to do and who we wanted to be there. We still don't know the answer to these questions. All I know and something I was quick to tell him is that although I would be supportive of having a service of some sort I could not give up his ashes. I'm not ready for that and I am not sure when I ever will be.
Despite what it may seem from reading the above ramblings of an insomniac who is writing this at 12:41 in the morning while waiting for the sleeping aid to kick in, the visit wasn't all about death and sadness. In fact, seeing the things we saw in that exhibit didn't make me any sadder than I normally am. The mere fact that I was with Leif, holding his hand in a museum in the middle of a work week, made the day a good one.
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